


Jump In

by yuffiehighwind



Series: Some Kind of Madness [4]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Final Fantasy X, Once Upon a Time (TV), World of Warcraft
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M, Gen, Multiple Crossovers, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson wouldn't tell anyone how the Hat worked, but two women knew some of its secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1-6 are based on episodes up through S2 Ep 8 "Into the Deep." Chapters 7-8 are based on episodes up through S2 Ep 20 "The Evil Queen," and chapters after that are based on episodes up through S2 Ep 22 "And Straight On 'Til Morning." Crosses over with Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" series after Chapter 6, "World of Warcraft" after Chapter 7, and "Final Fantasy X" after Chapter 11. Also references other works. 
> 
> Dubcon Leopold/Regina in Chapter 4. Part of my series "Some Kind of Madness." Nonlinear. This was moreso a place to put disconnected shorts, rather than one long story.
> 
> [Edit: Later I found out that Jefferson's wife was named Priscilla, but she's called Alice here. I wrote my fics before I read the tie-in comic "Out of the Past."]

Despite her many trips through the Hat's portals, Alice chided her husband for his recklessness. Even though she had become accustomed to and even took pleasure in the dizzy rush of it, and allowed herself to step through a hastily opened door or whirling purple tornado to evade some threat - beast or police or other pursuer. Alice, now heavy with child, told him to slow down and take a breath. To place the hat on the floor and carefully rotate it one, two, three times ( _No place like home_ ), not fling it like some plaything. Magic wasn't a toy. It seeped into your marrow, down into your soul. It changed you.

Alice couldn't reconcile the arrogant young man she loved with the creator of such a powerful artifact, but took his word that it was his and he controlled it and he alone, despite the wiggle-room in such truths. The hat was his (theirs, now), because he owned it, or it owned him. Because he kept a hold on it like it was his own child. He held it lightly, twirling it in his hands, but any friend could tell that he would lose the smirk if it ever dropped.

Alice had seen the panicked - terrified - look in his eyes when he misplaced it. (Never at home, but many times while they were on the run.) They feared it would fall into the wrong hands. Some realm jumping sorcerer with his own magic, bent on world domination. Heists and cons were easy, and enough for them. Adventure and money and a whispered name. Quiet renown. Her husband had never seemed to want much more, and when he found her, wanted nothing but her. Wanted to shower her in jewels and furs, and eat like kings while living like gypsies.

They feared the hat would strand them somewhere, unable to return home. Unable to find each other ever again. They ran with hands entwined, when their covers were blown and stealth was no longer an option. Away from dementors and jabberwockys, balrogs and dragons, werewolves and vampires, and even flying monkeys. From the City Watch, the Warsong Clan, the Winkie Guards or the Death Eaters. He took her hand and told Alice to run and she knew she would never leave his side, never dream of it, 'til death did they part.


	2. Lies

By his 21st birthday, Jefferson had been with five women. Lied to friends and said it had been ten, lied that two weren't drunk and that he hadn't been so drunk he couldn't remember the third. He lied to the fourth that he was a powerful lord and heir to a massive fortune, but his grandest lie was the most difficult one - that his fifth lover wasn't King Leopold's wife.

Jefferson lied to himself about how reckless he had been to commit treason by kissing her. She was just a silly teenage girl in over her head dabbling in dark magic. She did not remove hearts and crush them into dust. She couldn't slip her fingers, as tangible as shadows, through Jefferson's ribcage and tear out the very core of him. Her husband was not the sort of man who could have him executed - perhaps decapitated ( _Off with his head!)_ \- if Jefferson even brushed too close, never mind made love to her.

He could continue lying to himself or just admit defeat. After all, his employer was the Dark One. Jefferson often made deals with the devil and walked away unscathed, morals dubiously intact, even if his ethics weren't.

Rumplestiltskin would let out one of his high-pitched cackles if he knew, which he most assuredly did but never mentioned. The creature was centuries old, Jefferson was just a kid, Regina was a monster, and any day now he'd lose his head. Yet every minute of it had still been worth it. 


	3. Travel

Rumplestiltskin could teleport with a thought, but Jefferson had to travel the old-fashioned way - via tears in space he'd already made in places he'd already been.

The Hat spit him out where the walls between realms were thinnest. These entry points were few and specific. The only world Jefferson had ever managed to teleport through was his home - the world of the Enchanted Forest.

He could retrieve objects from anywhere in space and time, if he or the client knew and remembered, vividly, where to look. But passing a person through such a portal was tricky, if not impossible. (He lied about not knowing how.)

So Jefferson traveled on foot, same as any thief, with one trick up his sleeve: instantaneous escape. This didn't work in foreign realms, where he had to double back to the door crossing his fingers it had remained open, but did in Fairy Tale Land. As if the artifact knew it was home and exactly what shape to take. The one door missing from the hat was that one. Usually Jefferson stood in the center of its chamber and shut his eyes - with a breathtaking rush of magic, he stood, slightly dizzy, on solid ground again with the hat in his hand. This method was the most surefire way for him to see Regina, now. He just had to find a way into the castle, first. 


	4. Sex

Stealing a heart - then two, then three - Regina formed a small personal guard who would keep her activities quiet from King Leopold. The young queen - soul tarnished by her slowly increasing tally of murders, but still just a girl, nonetheless - could summon subjects to the castle and allow guests - respectful, courteous guests - admission to Leopold's court. She summoned Jefferson there for purely professional reasons. She didn't intend to take him to bed again at all.

A part of her knew that risking her throne, her life or the life of the realm jumper's wasn't really worth it. Besides, as confident as Regina was in her new role as sorceress-in-training, sex still left her conflicted and dissatisfied. Not that she'd ever admit that to Jefferson or Leopold, or gods forbid, Rumplestiltskin. Her teacher's mocking giggles threatened her confidence enough without him knowing any of her remaining weaknesses.

It was in no small part due to her strained, loveless marriage. Leopold had some idea Regina could never take the place of his late wife, but tried to make love to her anyway. Heartbroken and scared, Regina cried during their first time. She was stoic for their second and third, emotionally detached their fourth and fifth. Now resigned to her fate, she silently ignored the slips of her predecessor's name during their sixth and seventh.

Regina's terror on their wedding night would put even a king off sex, but Leopold returned to her bed to demand his rights anyway, pressured to produce a brother for Snow and male heir to the kingdom. From the way he doted on his daughter, however, it was clear Leopold intended Snow to become queen, leaving Regina with none of the power Cora had coveted.

A son could trump Snow in the line of succession, but a daughter would still come second, and Regina couldn't imagine raising any child in such a prison. She ran to Rumplestiltskin for help and the imp showed her how to make the potion that would provide a temporary solution to her problem. One sip a week, no son. No daughter, either.

As Regina learned how to create curses, she discovered its permanent alternative, but that decision was to come later and took careful consideration. Took time to come to terms with it.

Regina was young and beautiful and Leopold's property, but she was not his dead wife, so he only came to her monthly. Awaited news the following month and received the same disappointing results each time - No son. No daughter, either.

Sex left Regina conflicted and dissatisfied. Magic served a safer, yet deadlier, alternative.

Every lesson with Rumplestiltskin and every spark of magical energy that surged through her fingertips left Regina aroused, creating an eerie sexual tension between her and her teacher that lingered, even hours after walking out his door. However, Rumplestiltskin's cryptic words about knowing her as a baby left such a door between them closed. Shut tight. His lackey Jefferson was a much more appropriate outlet.

Regina didn't intend to start an affair, but there he was. Jefferson risked visits to her court and easily passed himself off as an employee. They could remain on opposite sides of a ballroom packed with guests, the King none the wiser that the glances they exchanged were charged with lust and dares and promises.

Regina wore bright colors in the castle and midnight black with Rumplestiltskin. Jefferson thought either palette suited her, because it would all end up on his floor anyway - Her complicated up-dos released, dark hair cascading down her tan back. Skin smooth and silky, like Jefferson's scarves.

If she allowed him, like tonight, he knotted them around her wrists. She was reluctant, but he whispered pleas and assurances, as if a powerful sorceress needed to be treated so sensitively. Tied her hands to the bedpost, those heartless guards of hers stationed on the other side of a thin wall, deflecting Snow or servants or Leopold.

Jefferson sucked on her breasts, then moved down her body to pleasure her with his mouth. Left her squirming, whimpering and helpless to stop her orgasm. She bit back her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making her come so easily. He kissed his way back up her belly, her chest, to her throat. His lips still sticky, warm and wet, he kissed her mouth. Made her suffer the indignity of tasting herself on his tongue, discovering that she loved it.

Regina hadn't performed any magic that day, and releasing magic substituted her orgasms, her body's dopamine no match for that surge of supernatural energy. Jefferson untied her wrists and watched Regina's hands carefully, letting the girl pull him down into her bed, under her blankets, like a lover and not a friend with very specific benefits. The sorceress was sated and sleepy, the release so very different than her spells, which left her keyed up and lusting for more. Days without even a little magic were like days without a drug. Jefferson's attentions were palliative. She didn't love him. She didn't even need him. But he kept showing up.


	5. Request

Jefferson found a shortcut into Regina's castle. He could avoid everyone on the grounds who would bar his entry by teleporting inside to their usual meeting place, unless the King was away on a journey and Regina's own luxurious chambers were available. Hers was the life Jefferson had always dreamed of living, and here she was, no older than him and already thinking of it as a gilded cage. A glass prison she wanted more than anything to escape, her rage churning in her gut. 

Jefferson knew he'd contributed to her transformation (and lied to himself that he hadn't), and yet this woman - who still hadn't killed him yet, and believed his lie, and quite possibly would for decades - thought of him as a friend.

In bed they played with pain and fucked like competitors. Loathed and loved each other, as much as Regina was capable of loving. She loved her father, that much he knew, and discovered she would never abandon family, as she spit Jefferson's own words back in his face. In daylight she was the civil wife of Leopold, loving step-mother of Snow, and this dichotomy was confusing but Jefferson became accustomed to it.

The only thing about Regina that surprised him was how long it took before she asked to enter the hat.

This was the very first thing people requested of the realm jumper upon learning of his gift. He didn't have any qualms about passengers - he sometimes ferried people across worlds, for a hefty price, as long as they followed the rules. It had seemed as if Regina couldn't care less, or faked this to hide fear. Then one day, the queen picked a time her husband and step-daughter were scarce, donned clothing fit for travel and demanded Jefferson take her.

"I want to see it. I want to travel with you, inside the hat."

The pair stood outside by Regina's apple tree feigning professionalism. She was turned away from him, looking at the tree thoughtfully.

"Where do you wish to go?" Jefferson asked.

Regina looked sidelong at him and smiled slyly.

"Anywhere you'll take me."

Jefferson sat down on a bench and considered this before saying, "There's a few places not too keen for me to return any time soon."

"Oh?"

"Wonderland is out of the question. Oz wouldn't be very safe and neither would Azeroth. Middle Earth, maybe? Or the Discworld?"

Regina watched him mentally tally up universes, his eyes flickering like he was going through an extensive list. How many were accessible to him? She felt that envy, again, of his power, and disdain that a boy so careless and ungrateful as Jefferson could ever have been endowed it.

 "Perhaps we can decide once we are inside the hat," she said.

Jefferson looked up at her and grinned.

"You'll grab the nearest doorknob and bolt, which I cannot let you do."

"There are doorknobs, within? Literally? I pictured something a bit more mystical every time you leapt into that silly tornado."

Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"I suppose one journey couldn't hurt."

Regina's expression briefly betrayed how young she still was. He caught her gleeful look and wondered what she would have been like had he and Victor never broken her heart.

Less fun in bed, he guessed.

Jefferson stood up and led Regina inside. They found an appropriate space in the castle and shut the doors behind them. Jefferson set the hat down on the floor, in the same exact spot he would regret doing so ten years later. He turned it three times and stepped back, the purple cloud beginning to engulf the two of them as the hat levitated into the air and its vortex grew wider.

"After you," Regina said.

"Together," Jefferson replied, taking her hand and stepping in.


	6. Ankh-Morpork

Regina sucked in a breath – she felt like she’d had the wind knocked out of her – and opened her eyes. Disoriented, she squinted into the dark. She stood inside a large, circular chamber lit by no visible source, its walls covered in doors. Each was the same height, same dimensions, but with a wide variety of styles, materials and elaborate ornamentation. Regina looked up and perceived there was a ceiling but saw none.

She felt embarrassed by her lack of knowledge and how much she took Jefferson for granted.

“It’s magnificent.”

Jefferson shrugged. No hat in his hands, Regina reached the conclusion that they were inside it. The realm jumper turned, examining each door, reminding himself which worlds he had access to and recalling the ones to which he was still welcome.

“Take your pick, Regina.”

The sorceress headed for a mirror that looked strangely familiar and left an unsettling feeling in her stomach. She felt Jefferson’s hand on her shoulder, stopping her abruptly. Instinctively, she turned on him, right hand glowing.

“What is it?”

“That is Wonderland, and I highly recommended we never go there.”

“Scared?” Regina sneered.

“Practical.”

“It’s just as well,” she said, gazing at her reflection. “It gives me a bad feeling.”

She blushed. Hid it and then gave him a haughty look.

“Not that I fear any of the challenges these lands present me. We will pick the most interesting door and enter that one.”

She marched across the chamber, the usually confident Jefferson trailing her cautiously. Regina wasn’t sure which he feared more – what the natives would do to her, or what she would inflict upon _them._

“What is this?” she asked, touching a stone door engraved with a ludicrous tableau. It was not the most striking or beautiful, but it was an image of a giant turtle, four elephants astride it, a flat land balanced atop them with a continent, mountains and cascading waterfall. The door seemed to faintly glow purple and green.

“That is the Discworld. It's not too different from our own land. But if you seek adventure, it won't be found there.”

There was something off about his tone. Regina turned around.

“And why do you say that?”

Jefferson scratched behind his ear. Crossed his arms.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Hatter.”

The realm jumper clapped his hands together and approached the door.

“You caught me. It’s just…last time I was there, the fabric of reality seemed a little…”

“A little what, Jefferson?”

“Thin.” He shook his head. “It’s not that I doubt we’d be safe, I’m just wondering if ripping more holes in the Discworld is wise.”

“But you're _not_ ripping a new hole. This is an already established portal to the realm.”

Jefferson still looked uncertain. Played with the rings on his fingers, before saying, “You’re right. We have nothing to fear. Although the Disc may still bore you.”

“We shall see,” she said. “Are you coming or not?”

Jefferson opened the door. An ordinary-looking, foul smelling city lay beyond the threshold. The sorceress stepped through and no passing people noticed the door they emerged from had an echoing marble chamber behind it. They exited the side door of a wooden building and stepped into a grungy alley. Jefferson shut the door behind them. Underneath a patina of grime, the same symbol – turtle, elephants, disc – was etched in the wood. A surprisingly easy way to find the door home.

“No one will enter it unknowingly, leaving us stranded?”

Jefferson re-opened the door and they peered into a busy kitchen. A cat hissed at them and fled. The hulking cook, apron covered in either sauce or blood, shot them a glare. Stoves bubbled and a pig roasted on a spit.

Regina held her tongue until they shut it before frantically whispering, “What have you done?”

Jefferson rubbed her upper arm comfortingly. He touched the doorknob again, shutting his eyes and concentrating. He opened it a crack to allow Regina to see into the chamber of doors.

“See? It’s fine. It's enchanted so you may only find it if you know it’s there.”

Regina pulled away and sighed in exasperation.

“Why could you not place it at the end of the alley like a normal magician?”

“The hat picked a scullery, not I. Come. Let’s explore this city and get back in time for tea.”

“I still don’t know why you think I will not enjoy myself here.”

“Well we’re not stealing anything and I am _not_ letting you kill anyone…”

“I don’t require your permission. Besides, how could you stop me?”

 “…so that leaves very little else to do. Except get a room and fuck?"

 “Not a chance. The smell of this city is a turn off as it is.”

The pair walked down the street and wandered into a market. Regina felt a sort of static, a feeling like right before a lightning storm, and the air tasted like tin. She felt a tingle in her belly and his flippant offer of sex suddenly didn’t seem so repulsive.

“Can you feel that?” she asked, licking her lips.

Jefferson, with a familiar theatrical flourish, gestured above and pronounced, “Behold, Regina, the Unseen University!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the point at which I ended up with severe writer's block. I was unsure how to continue, having been in the process of writing a long "Discworld" fanfic about Rincewind, progress stalling on that as well. I love Terry Pratchett to pieces, but can't for the life of me match his style, humor and imagination. I love the idea of them visiting the Discworld but I don't know when this storyline will be updated. 
> 
> The next chapter takes us to a different land...


	7. The Flying City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson's first trip to Azeroth left his mouth agape and eyes wide. Nothing he had experienced in life so far had prepared him for the sight of Crystalsong Forest. (Crossover with 'World of Warcraft.' I couldn't help myself!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline:
> 
> Once Upon a Time - ~19 years before Regina casts the Dark Curse. Jefferson is 18 years old.
> 
> World of Warcraft - During the war against the Lich King in "Wrath of the Lich King," but before the siege of Icecrown Citadel. Year 631 by the King's Calendar.
> 
> -And yes, yes I realize that hearthstones are rare, difficult to find, and hard to make in canon lore. I forgot/ignored that when I was writing this, since every player (for game mechanics purposes) has one. The first thing any innkeeper NPC ever asks you is if you want one.

 

The first thing Jefferson found himself doing, in every realm he landed in, was check to see if the portal would close and become a hat again. Something tangible and portable he could keep on his head, its power secure in his possession and his alone. Not a door some fool could stumble through accidentally, taking his place and stranding him.

The first time a door shut and locked behind him, Jefferson's heart thudded so hard he felt it may burst from his chest. He was an adventurous youth, certainly. Reckless and bold, which was how he was capable of leaping into that swirling vortex in the first place. He had been too young to consider all the cons and what-if's. All he knew that first day was he needed an escape and one had miraculously opened itself up to him. The rest was history.

Jefferson turned around and banged on the door. He yanked on the knob to no avail and resisted shouting at it to open up for him. (To not abandon him as everyone else had done.) He scrabbled at its edges and clawed at the hinges. He'd pry it open, perhaps, with some kind of tool or weapon. He wished he had his knife. Getting his breathing under control, he turned to see people giving him funny looks before glancing away again. A man locked out of his own home or workplace was no alien concept, not in any world. Jefferson, self-conscious, slinked away for answers, and by the end of this very first visit - to a city called Ankh-Morpork in a realm called the Discworld - he realized what he must do. He shut his eyes and concentrated, pretending he was a wizard, as he had so often in his childhood. He let his mind gently probe the forces of magic surrounding the portal, and the knob turned. The door gently clicked open, revealing the Hat's familiar chamber. First lesson learned. Now for all the others.

 

* * *

 

Jefferson's first trip to Azeroth left his mouth agape and eyes wide. Nothing he had experienced in life so far had prepared him for the sight of Crystalsong Forest.

Opening the door, Jefferson stepped into the crumbling ruins of an ancient temple. Lined with stone columns, it was open to the wintry air, and the first glimpses of this new landscape to catch his eye were the small pink and orange trees surrounding it, yellow grass giving way to snow-covered mountains. He turned his head to the left and caught the sight of a blue-furred…man? No, it had the bottom half of a goat and two large, curved horns protruding from its skull. It was a satyr, which he had never seen in person, but had been told stories about as a child. It was standing outside the temple some distance away but close enough to notice Jefferson if it looked up. The boy ducked behind a pillar to avoid the creature's gaze. Best not get its attention and cut this trip short, permanently.

Jefferson turned to the right and his jaw dropped at the sight of the most beautiful tree he had ever seen. It towered high above the valley, glittering purple. Even at this distance, he could see its branches swaying in the wind, but… _oh_. So  _that_ was why he could see it moving. The tree hovered just above its bottom trunk, crystalline chunks of it  _disconnected_ , like puzzle pieces that had been pulled apart. Far in the distance beyond it he could make out two more. Up above, on the cliff face, Jefferson could see more ruined stone buildings. The night sky sparkled with countless stars, and he wasn't sure which lit up the valley more - the crystal trees, which shone with their own ethereal light, or the white moon peeking up over the hills.

 _The trees are singing_ , he thought. But that was foolish. It must have been his imagination.

Jefferson spotted a creek to his right, and made his way down what remained of the temple's stairs, then lowered himself to the ground, just in the nick of time to avoid another menacing satyr. The creature's attention had been diverted, anyhow, by the lumbering form of a  _walking tree_.

The tree was humanoid, and resembled an old, bearded man, hunched over and shaking the ground with every step. It was covered in autumn-red leaves, its fingers sharpened branches. Jefferson wasn't sure whether to be relieved the thing was scaring off the satyrs or terrified it was approaching. He chose to leave both monsters behind, making his way down the hill to the creek.

Monsters weren't the only creatures populating the forest. Animal eyes peered at Jefferson from behind bushes. Squirrels hopped from branch to branch while rabbits skirted his path. A stag emerged from a copse to stare at Jefferson, then sprinted away at the sound of a far-off wolf howl.

It was on the way to the creek that Jefferson noticed something amiss. He had the unnerving sense something hovered just above him. Hoping it wasn't another magical creature, he looked up. The boy was stunned breathless by something even more wonderful. A huge  _island_  floated in the sky above his head. He could just make out what looked like a tower peeking out over the side.

 _Remarkable!_ But frightening. Jefferson had the irrational fear it would drop and crush him at any moment. Powerful magic must hold it up, he reasoned, and his gut knew this to be true. He could  _feel_  it. Surely a concentration of magic such as this was why the Hat had spit him out in this location.

Jefferson found a cobblestone path running parallel to the creek, marked with a sconce still lit blue by residual magic. Or had it been lit by more recent passerby? The satyrs perhaps? He had the option to turn right or left, and picked right because it led him closer to the floating island.  _There_ _ **must**_ _be some way up,_ he thought. Jefferson was now determined to find one. He passed through more crumbling stone archways as he followed the path. It led him past one of those impossible crystal trees, which "grew" on the other side of the creek, dominating the nearby landscape. As he got closer he could make out metal platforms suspended in the air around it. There was magic being performed up there. He knew from the arcing purple light streaking from platform to platform. Who, or what, were responsible was a mystery.

The path ended at a small, circular area surrounded by more columns and inhabited by more satyrs. Jefferson was forced down to the creek's bank to avoid them. The water led him to a ghastly sight. A black metallic dam sealed up one end of the valley. Great masses of glacial ice protruded from its openings, slowly melting into the dark pond that was the source of the creek.

Just looking at it filled him with dread. A little voice at the back of his mind began to whisper,  _"Run. Run now! Back to the Hat and home again!"_  But drawing his gaze away he saw what seemed to be the only towering tree that was actually  _living_ , which quelled his fears and gave him a small shred of hope. Beneath it were two stone towers covered in moss and vines. He had a good feeling this would have people who could tell him how to reach the flying island. It was worth a look. He found a part of the creek narrow and shallow enough that he wouldn't have to swim across. This required doubling back and continuing his trek towards the towers on the other shore.

Reaching the ruins, Jefferson found himself in a large courtyard, and spotted two human-looking figures standing yards away. He almost called out to them, then silenced himself. To his left, sat against one low wall, were two skeletons, and with a second glance at the two people standing in the courtyard, who were staring blankly into space at people and things that were no longer there, he realized these must be their ghosts.

Jefferson hadn't believed in the existence of ghosts until his visit to the Land Without Color, where he had received a memorable - and terrifying - introduction. These two seemed to not notice he was there, gazing straight through him as if he were as transparent as they were. He edged closer and closer to the semi-transparent people until he could examine their faces. One was a slender woman nearly a foot taller than Jefferson, with purple skin and tattooed cheeks. She had short green hair and long, whiskery eyebrows. He had never seen one, yet there was no question in Jefferson's mind she was an elf, with such large pointy ears and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She was dressed regally, in a fine robe of many colors. A pair of armored gloves implied she was more than just a noblewoman, and she had the gentle, self-assured smile of someone who expects to live forever.

The other ghost was a male elf - muscular, broad-shouldered, and equally clueless that Jefferson stood there watching him. Taller than the woman, he had sharp, angular features as pointy as his ears. His long green hair was pulled back into a single thick braid, and he wore the severe, sober expression of a man ready for a fight.

Jefferson watched as they made another circuit around the courtyard, passing their own slumped corpses, unseeing.

A ramp led to the second tower, his true destination. There was a curious violet bubble at the edge of Jefferson's sight, that he could only spot if he glanced at it from his peripheral vision. As he eagerly approached, Jefferson was shocked to find a prone reptilian creature at his feet, its dead yellow eyes still wide open, slack jawed maw full of jagged teeth. It had four legs, two arms and a long blue tail.  _Half man, half dragon,_ he thought. What metal armor remained protecting the creature's own thick scales had clearly been no help. Its outstretched arm still clutched a useless sword.

Another one lay dead across the courtyard. Jefferson spotted what he hoped weren't human remains in a scorched crater nearby. He felt sick.

_They were fighting dragons!_

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than an indistinct roar echoed above him. He looked up at the nearest crystal tree and wondered what lurked in its branches. The dead dragons' big brothers? Jefferson shook the fear away and turned his attention to the magic he sensed behind him.

He paused at the edge of the invisible barrier. He knew it must be there. Jefferson could detect ambient magic now, since acquiring the Hat. This forest was  _saturated_  with magic. An ancient magic he could barely comprehend. This bubble, however, was new. He tentatively reached an arm out and his fingers disappeared into the air. Delighted, Jefferson laughed. Then he felt another hand grip his own and forcefully pull. He stopped laughing.

The boy was pulled inside the force field with a jolt and his gaze met a very angry wizard's.

"Who are you?" the wizard demanded, twisting Jefferson's arm.

Long-robed but well-armored, the man bore a tabard emblazoned with a large yellow eye. He had yanked Jefferson inside the purple globe and into a modest campsite made up of stacked crates, torches (tinged blue by magic), a tent and a half-built cabin. However, its most distinguishing features were the brightly glowing sigils beneath their feet. Faint arcane runes danced through the air, lazily circling a floating triangular crystal. Behind the wizard stood two similarly robed human women, as well as what Jefferson figured were an elven woman and elven man. The pair looked almost entirely  _unlike_  the ghosts pacing the ruins. They were shorter, with lighter skin. They were nearly indistinguishable from humans at a distance, but their long, pointy ears and piercing blue eyes gave off a distinctly elfish impression.

The wizards had their staves raised and pointing at him.

"My name is Jefferson! I mean no harm! I merely seek passage to the flying city!"

The wizard roughly searched the boy, taking his satchel from him, but found nothing unusual. The powerful, impossible Hat - which Jefferson could never allow to fall into hands such as these - had cleverly hid itself inside the temple downriver. For the first time, he was glad of it.

The wizards lowered their staves and one of the human women approached him. She was much older than the others (except perhaps the elves), with gray hair and the eyes of a veteran.

"I am Gatekeeper Melindra. Welcome to what we call the 'Violet Stand.'" She waved a hand at her companions, three of whom had resumed magically supporting the protective bubble. "You are a member of the Alliance." It wasn't a question. Jefferson nodded anyway.

"We are war mages of the Kirin Tor, and since you seem to pose no threat we will allow you entry to our city." She gestured above and the boy's gaze was once again drawn to the floating island. "You must be weary from your journey." The woman's eyes scanned Jefferson and her brow furrowed. "What happened to your gear?"

"I lost it," Jefferson lied. "In a storm. I barely made it here in one piece!"

"Well, thank the Light you found us when you did. You have our sympathy and, of course, our hospitality. Every soldier in the war against the Lich King is welcome to Dalaran."

 _War? King?_  Jefferson was already in over his head.

"Touch the crystal, young man," she said. "It will transport you above in no time at all."

Despite his misgivings, Jefferson had no other choice. He did as she asked and, with a dizzying rush so similar to entering and exiting the Hat, found himself in a circular chamber with its own crystal, surrounded by more wizards. A human woman with red hair and a  _blinding_  blue staff greeted him.

"Welcome to Dalaran. I am Archmage Celindra." Jefferson couldn't keep the confusion from his features any longer. He was learning another early lesson: pretend to belong and pretend to know everything. "You must have many questions," she said.

"Yes, yes I do," he replied, because he was so out of his depth any guidance would be more than welcome. He could still feign being one of these "soldiers" in the war against this king Melindra mentioned. Surely not all of them knew much about magic.

Jefferson turned his charm back on. "Archmage Celindra..." He bowed reverently and she smiled. "That's funny. There was a mage named Melindra down below. I don't suppose you two are related?"

Celindra rolled her eyes, as if this was the hundredth time she had heard it.

"What is your name, young man?"

"Jefferson, my lady. I mean Archmage. Uh, is there an  _inn_  you can direct me to?" He needed the toilet more than anything else.

"Yes, of course. There are  _many_  amenities available in this city." Jefferson could have sworn the Archmage had winked, but that was surely wishful thinking. "I suggest seeking out the Silver Covenant to start with. I must warn you that the Sunreavers also reside here but do not take kindly to humans. Their red banners should not be difficult to miss. The Silver Enclave is located on the other side of the courtyard and you should be able to find lodging there."

None of these names registered in his brain or made any sense, but he smiled gratefully and gave another bow.

"Thank you, Archmage."

Jefferson left the chamber, but not before giving the mage his own wink. He exited into the street and was immediately overwhelmed, again, by the expanse of black sky. Up here the moon and stars were more visible than in the valley below, and he tried not to think of why. This entire city was sitting on a chunk of rock hovering far above the forest. He hadn't even visited the edge yet and already felt vertigo. Well, the ground _felt_ solid enough...

Jefferson mistakenly stepped into the path of another hulking creature from his bedtime stories - a minotaur. Then he dodged the hurried strides of a male elf. He turned around to catch sight of a dwarf chatting with a gnome, and the both of them being swept aside by a blue, tusked man riding  _a huge, bipedal lizard_. The pair shook their fists at the rider who had only just swerved to avoid them.

Every variation of humanoid Jefferson could think of walked Dalaran's cobble-stoned streets. This was not so strange after visiting the Discworld, or growing up among dwarves and fairies back home, but still gave him pause, like the first time he saw one of the Forsaken.

Repulsed, nauseous and more than a little bit scared, young Jefferson's eyes widened as the undead man lumbered towards him. His heart sped up, and his stomach turned at the sight of the half-decayed flesh hanging off the dead man's skeletal frame.

But then a tall female elf bumped shoulders with the zombie, and the two got into the same tired argument of, "I'm  _walking_  here!" She did not fear him, and none of the other citizens found the zombie unusual either. The tall elf turned, shaking her head, then met Jefferson's eyes. She looked just like the ghost from the crystal forest, but very much alive. The artificial climate of this flying city had also left it warm enough for her to dress… _lightly_  enough for him to notice she was more 'woman' than any human woman he'd ever met.

"Eyes up here!" the offended elf snapped at him, pointing to her equally distracting silver eyes. They were all iris, lacking any pupil, shimmering with a magical glow. She had light blue skin and darker, navy hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, whiskery eyebrows and face marked with tribal tattoos similar to the ghost's. Jefferson reeled from the culture shock. There were no elves in the Discworld (anymore). There were no elves like this at home either.

Jefferson found the Silver Enclave, guarded by more of those slim, pale human-like elves, and he asked many questions and received many more answers just by eavesdropping on tavern patrons than he would by asking a more tight-lipped Archmage like Celindra. The "Kirin Tor" had found itself in the middle of a brutal, bloody war - one with so many fronts the fight seemed more hopeless every day. An undead king, a mad blue dragon, and ancient gods from the beginning of time. Two factions waged war with each other the same time they waged war against the Lich King. Jefferson had only just arrived and it already seemed wisest to go home and never return.

A quick gryphon ride over the edge and he would be back in the Hat, but there was an entire  _realm_  out there. Two other continents that every traveler at the inn told him they missed terribly. He found the Silver Covenant's courtyard of portals to these continents, and nearly stepped through one before remembering he needed a way to return.

"Would you like to bind yourself to our inn?" the innkeeper asked him, with that tired, blank tone salespeople and others in the service industry use for questions they have asked customers a thousand times.

"What do you mean?"

The innkeeper's face lit up, like this was the first time in years someone had pressed for more information instead of just saying, "Yes" or "No."

"Your hearthstone. Do you want to bind your hearthstone to Dalaran?"

"I…never got around to buying one," he said, so she disappeared into a back room and remerged with a smooth, white rock painted with a blue rune.

"How much is it?" he asked.

"No charge," she said, placing it in his hand, "and you may take this one. The mages here can always produce more."

She enchanted the stone with a little wave of her fingers, then said with a smile, "There. Now you may return to our city any time you like."

Jefferson took the stone to a jeweler down the street and had it fashioned into a necklace. He placed the talisman around his neck and stuffed it under his shirt. Now he had another magical item to guard as closely as his Hat, but this one was a lot easier to carry. And a lot less costly to lose.


	8. By the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust no one with the Hat. That was the first rule. Especially magic-users. Not a single one of them. Not even one with as fine a body as that. (Crossover with 'World of Warcraft.' Jefferson/Original Female Character. Sex, drugs, but no rock and roll.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline:
> 
> Once Upon a Time - ~14 years before Regina casts the Dark Curse. Jefferson is 23 years old.  
> World of Warcraft - After the fall of the Lich King in "Wrath of the Lich King," but (shortly) before the Shattering in "Cataclysm." Year 636 by the King's Calendar.
> 
> -"Reul Ghorm" is another name for the Blue Fairy. It's what Baelfire called her in S1 E19 "The Return."
> 
> -In World of Warcraft, the sin'dorei and quel'dorei are two political factions of elves. The sin'dorei, or "blood" elves, became addicted to "fel" (demonic) magic when they were deprived of natural sources. As a result, their eyes turned from blue to green. The only way to tell the difference between a blood elf and a high elf are their eyes. The kal'dorei are another race of elves and look very different.
> 
> Thalassian key (the language of high elves) -
> 
> Dalah'surfal - My beloved one  
> Doral ana'diel? - How fare you?  
> Anar'alah - By the light  
> Bal'adash - Greetings  
> Shorel'aran - Farewell

 

 

Jefferson carefully landed his snowy hippogryph alongside the other mounted riders on Krasus Landing, then dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy. Or rather, man. The elves here in Dalaran looked like boys, but they were far older than that. Some were much, much older than Rumplestiltskin. Even older than Reul Ghorm.

Hair ruffled by the icy wind, torso bundled up in a long fur coat, the portal jumper had barely acclimated himself to being on solid ground again (if you could call it that) before an auburn-haired elf lady rushed forward to embrace him. She wrapped her arms around his waist with a jolt, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Dalah'surfal!" she exclaimed shrilly. "Doral ana'diel?"

"Just fine, Ana." Jefferson ignored her slip of the "D" word. That was happening more and more often. He only felt slightly bad about it. "Here, I brought you a present." He handed her a small silk bag tied with string. She flashed him a wicked smile and he could just make out a wink behind her dark glasses.

"What could this be?" She untied it. "Ohhh, you really shouldn't have."

She pulled out an Abyss Crystal and held it up to the light.

"Keep looking," he said.

The woman, a sin'dorei mage named Anathiel, found an even smaller baggy inside containing at least 2 grams of Arcane Dust. Her flirty smirk became a lustful gaze, but it wasn't directed at him.

"We can have a lot of fun with this tonight."

"Carousing down in the Underbelly?"

"No!" she said, slipping the bag in her pocket and heading for the main thoroughfare, towards the city's only neutral inn. "What kind of party is that?"

Warmed by Dalaran's artificial heat, Jefferson took off his gloves and opened his coat as he followed her, saying, "One where I get to see you dance on a table. Preferably with less clothes on."

The elf turned around to roll her eyes, not that he could see them.

"It smells of sewage down there."

"Yes, that's because it's a sewer."

The elf shivered in disgust.

"I don't know how you can stand it."

"The city's night soil isn't dumped on the  _tavern,_ which is all that really matters, isn't it?"

"We're staying at the Legerdemain Lounge tonight. I booked the finest suite."

"I  _am_ a fan of their gryphon feather beds."

"And its privacy, _"_ she said, entering the inn. Anathiel fidgeted with her glasses as she nodded to the innkeeper and his wife, who were busy behind the bar serving customers.

"Bal'adash," he said.

"Bal'adash," replied Anathiel. She climbed the stairs to her room and beckoned Jefferson to follow her.

Entering the suite, Jefferson whistled. In the center sat a luxurious, queen sized canopy bed.

"You know just what I like, my dear," Jefferson said in her ear, standing close behind her and settling his hands on her hips.

"Mmm," she said. "I most certainly do."

Anathiel turned around and took off her glasses, which had concealed two glowing green eyes. She wore the glasses because this glow gave her away as a sin'dorei, and a sin'dorei could never be caught fraternizing with a human. The mage took this precaution for Jefferson's sake. She felt she should be able to fraternize with whoever she pleased. This wasn't Orgrimmar. She wasn't Horde here, she was a member of the Kirin Tor.

Jefferson had met Anathiel in much the same way he met most contacts - in a tavern. In Dalaran, because Dalaran was the only place a human could meet a blood elf who wouldn't shoot first and ask questions later.

She was there to research magic alongside the best minds in Azeroth, and no sooner had she arrived had the Kirin Tor conscripted her to help reset the ley lines that had been ripped up and moved by the insane dragon Malygos. There was a considerable amount of work to be done to make Northrend safer, even with Malygos dead. Even with the Scourge beaten back or the old gods defeated. It was all much too overwhelming for Anathiel, she told Jefferson, even for someone her age. It's why he first met her in Cantrips and Crows drinking an orc under the table, trying to forget.

Tonight the elf in Jefferson's arms was definitely not thinking of Malygos. They embraced each other, and Anathiel was slightly taller than him, even in bare feet, so she leaned down to meet his lips.

Jefferson kicked the door shut behind them.

 

* * *

 

Anathiel reclined on red sheets, propped up by pillows, and watched the curtains sway in the breeze from the open window. She closed her eyes and tried shutting out the sounds from the street below to better concentrate on the building heat in her center.

"That's it," she murmured. "Keep doing that."

Her shallow breathing quickened.

"Yes, like that, but a little higher. To the left… _Yes."_

Her hips bucked and the two firm hands parting her thighs held her down. It wasn't long before she threw her head back and let out a strangled shout.

" _Anar'alah!"_

The elf shuddered and came. Sighing, she opened her eyes to glance down at her lover, his face buried between her legs looking as though she was the best thing he had ever tasted. She knew that expression. She'd mastered it herself two centuries ago, but it never ceased to turn her on. His eyes met hers and he sat up. Wiping his mouth, he smirked, then crawled over her prone body to kiss her.

"Good boy," she said, ruffling his hair. He grinned and slapped her on the thigh.

Jefferson lay down, and Anathiel could see his erection bulging through his breeches. The human was shirtless and the elf nude from the waist down. She leaned over the nearby dresser and snorted a line of fine, white powder.

" _Fuck_ ," she said in Thalassian, under her breath. She held a piece of rolled up parchment to her nose and snorted another thin line of powder. " _Fuck_ ," she repeated, then said in Common, "That is  _good_."

"I'm glad you like it."

"You need to try this."

The man shook his head.

Anathiel picked up the mirror on which her drugs were spread and carefully brought it over to rest on the bed. She sat cross-legged and offered it to Jefferson.

"One hit," she said. He merely sighed and rubbed her thigh. "Why do you always refuse?" she asked petulantly.

"I need to keep my head straight. For my work."

"You're a mercenary, Jefferson. A rogue, like me. You've taken sips of my mana potions."

"Those didn't feel any different than alcohol."

"Liar. They're much more potent than that."

He rubbed his erection idly though his pants, shooting her meaningful glances.

"Ana…" he said, but she had leaned down to snort another line. She picked up the small knife sitting on the glass and created two more lines from the little pile of Arcane Dust.

"You know I love that mouth of yours," he hinted.

She was distracted, the euphoria washing over her. Which was better, she wondered. Magic or sex? The former trumped the latter every time. She preferred to mix the two, even though her tutors had never approved. At least the ones she hadn't slept with. Anathiel had lived a very long time, but had little experience navigating the staunchly professional hierarchy of the Kirin Tor.

The elf's head spun and she giggled. Then she laughed outright and fell back, nearly knocking over her drugs with one foot.

"What's so funny?" Jefferson asked.

She didn't reply, having already forgotten. The elf bent down over his lap and nuzzled his groin.

"Oh, Anathiel…"

He ran his fingers through her hair, then went about unfastening his breeches. She stopped him and said, "I'll make love to you with my mouth…"

"Yes…?"

"…if you take a hit."

"Dammit, Ana!" Nearly bursting with desire, he quickly agreed. "Fine, fine. I'll do it."

Grinning with satisfaction, the elf put some dust on the back of her hand and held it up to his nose. He snorted it and was struck dizzy by the sensation.

"Ohh…"

"Isn't it wonderful?"

His head swimming, he said, "I didn't…I didn't expect  _that_. I had no idea."

Anathiel bent down and did as she had promised. Jefferson fisted his hands in her tangled auburn hair, and while she was busy pleasuring him, figured she wouldn't mind if he reached over her body to take some more dust.

The elf stopped, got up and straddled him. Energized by the drugs, Anathiel sank down and began to ride him. Jefferson could only hang on and watch her through vision blurred by the magic now coursing through his bloodstream. She cried out in Thalassian, and he only understood what she was saying when she accompanied the gyrations of her pelvis with coherent speech.

"My man…My magic man…" She punctuated each word with a thrust. "You're more…than you... seem."

"What?"

He looked up to see her staring curiously at him, saying, "You're not from here."

Jefferson shut his eyes and tried to think of an adequate reply.

"From Azeroth," she added.

"Don't slow down, Ana,  _please_  don't slow down."

But she had slowed her movements and she looked at him pointedly, expecting a reply.

He groaned in frustration. "I'm from another world. Why, of all times, are you asking me this  _now?_ "

"It just crossed my mind is all," she lied. It had been bugging her for months. "What world?"

"I don't know what it's called. I just call it 'home.' Now would you please move your hips? You're driving me crazy."

"People do call you mad, sometimes."

"I'm well aware."

"You tell stories about other places. Strange places."

"Azeroth is full of strange places."

"You don't know our history, or our customs, or our languages…"

"I speak Common well enough."

Jefferson thrust up into her, gripping her hips and moving them himself, since she wouldn't.

"Do you have a family at home?" she asked.

He grunted and shook his head.

"No wife or children?"

"Of course not."

"Parents?"

Jefferson closed his eyes and hesitated.

"Gone, now. Both of them."

Anathiel didn't press any more than that, but asked one more question.

"How do you travel from here to there?"

"Through my…" It sounded silly, and not at all arcane, now he said it out loud. "My magic  _hat_."

The elf laughed. "That's funny. I never see you wearing one."

"It's complicated. Now _pleas_ e, Ana…"

The elf resumed riding him, but not satisfied with just that, Jefferson rolled her beneath him.

"Most things are," she said, locking her green eyes with his, which were so bright up close Jefferson preferred her in dark glasses. The elf gripped his shoulders and rocked her pelvis to match his rhythm, moaning shamelessly at a volume that would surely be heard downstairs or even outside. The mage never showed embarrassment, but he could still see a blush creep up her cheeks when a high elf mocked or insulted her.

"Dalah'surfal," she whispered in his ear when he came. She ran her fingers through his hair, brown locks damp with sweat, and murmured, "My mad hatter."

 

* * *

 

Despite the recent revelation that they could both perform magic, Jefferson refused to show the mage how he navigated from realm to realm. It had never annoyed her before, creating portals to the Azerothian capitals for him - even as far as Shattrath - but nagged at her now she knew his secret.

"Let the teachers here instruct you," she said, which was something he had procrastinated doing for weeks.

"You don't understand, Ana."

"What don't I understand? You said you're a portal jumper."

"I say many things during sex. It doesn't mean they're all true."

"What sort of jumper doesn't know how to teleport?"

She "blinked" down the street, manifesting yards away, and back again, nearly knocking over a draenei priest.

"See? And you know I can go much farther than that. The power must be inside you too. What's the problem?"

"I don't have my hat."

"There's a shop here that sells them. I can enchant it for you."

"Look, I can't explain."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Jefferson, tell me  _why_." He shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "You don't  _trust_ me, do you?"

His only response was a level, neutral gaze. "Oh," she mouthed silently, and her whiskery eyebrows betrayed her emotion by quivering slightly. Jefferson wished her eyes weren't hidden behind the dark glasses, so he could read her expression.

"Where do you go? On your gryphon?"

"Ana..."

"Please tell me."

"That's my business."

"Don't I have a right to know?"

"No, Ana. You don't," he snapped. Before he could stop himself, he coldly said, "You're not my mate."

Anathiel recoiled as if she'd been slapped. She clenched her fists, and Jefferson knew she could smite him with nothing more than the wave of her hand, but continued anyway, his words making her more and more agitated. Her hands started to glow blue.

"It's just fucking. That's all it is. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. I give you drugs, you give me magic. Sometimes we have fun together. That's all it was. Just some harmless fun, until you started calling me your…"

_"You shut your mouth, human!"_

The argument garnered the attention of a patrolling Sunreaver peacekeeper.

"Is there a problem here?" the blood elf soldier asked.

"Yes! Yes, there is. This  _human_  has been harassing me." Anathiel turned and took off her glasses so he could see her green eyes.

"Step away from the lady, human."

Jefferson complied, but said to him, "Excuse me, but is this any way to treat a member of the Kirin Tor?"

"Liar," Anathiel spat. "He is only a rogue and has no business in Dalaran!"

The soldier sneered, "If you are a mage, then where are your robes?" He motioned with his spear and said, "I need you to come with me."

As much as he loathed authority, Jefferson didn't push his luck and did as he was told. Then a mage wearing the tabard of the Kirin Tor stopped them.

"That won't be necessary," he said. "I will ensure this man bothers you no longer. Come with me, young man," the mage said sternly. He led Jefferson away from the two elves whispering, "I don't know what that was back there, but  _don't_  let it happen again. The Sunreavers aren't known for their leniency. Or their forgiveness."

Jefferson shot a glance at Anathiel, but she was no longer looking in his direction. She was leaning in close to the peacekeeper, looking up at him with wide eyes and feigned gratitude.

"Shorel'aran," Jefferson whispered bitterly.

 _Trust_ _**no one** _ _with the Hat. That was the first rule. Especially magic-users. Not a single one of them. Not even one with as fine a body as that._

 

* * *

 

"You remind me of someone," Jefferson once told Anathiel, the first time he watched the elf snort Arcane Dust.

It was meant to be used for creating enchantments, but snorting it gave the mage a quick rush of euphoria from the pure, condensed magic. "Mana potions take too long," she would say. Anathiel typically avoided the harder drugs. She had only ever tasted demon blood once. "Warlocks make terrible dealers," she said. "They don't warn you that felblood gives you the  _worst_ hallucinations. And your heart beats so fast you feel like you're going to  _die_."

Anathiel reminded Jefferson of Regina. He'd even caught the young queen huffing magic herself, until she passed out, her eyes and lips glowing purple.

Like snorting dust but not quite, Regina could gently blow on spell scrolls until the magical ink rose into the air as little clouds. She inhaled this, and sometimes he'd see her emerge from her chambers in the castle sniffling and rubbing her nose, discreetly wiping away whatever residue was left around her nostrils. Anathiel would often do the same. The addicted witches were now well-prepared for their days - wide awake, energized, even manic. It wasn't difficult to spot when they were high.

Regina had a beautiful old book she always consulted, those early years as a sorceress, hidden in her dresser. It was a compilation of spells, filled cover to cover with them in carefully hand written calligraphy. Writing spells on scrolls of parchment in magical ink was typical in Jefferson's world and in Azeroth, but in his realm such scrolls had become so rare that Regina's tome was priceless, its worth beyond measure.

He hadn't seen Rumplestiltskin mixing ink, but had watched the imp mix potions - using elaborate tubing, glass beakers and small fires. Heating and cooling liquids, and stirring exotic ingredients together like a mad chef. Azeroth was full of such alchemists, and when a client needed the quick fix a potion could provide, it seemed less trouble making a special trip than it was trying to strike a deal with Rumplestiltskin. Jefferson preferred not to owe the Dark One any favors. Taking his money was much safer than trying to pay him with it. The imp didn't need money, preferring payment in anything ranging from a ring that could turn you invisible to your first born son. The extra effort was worth it. Potions weren't cheap, but they were cheaper than _that._

Those early days, Regina was Rumplestiltskin's apprentice, and had been relegated to chopping up rare herbs, roots and flowers for him. When she was done with that and they were properly bagged, Rumplestiltskin would give her another fifty mundane tasks to do. "Get to it," he'd say curtly, sitting down to lazily spin gold. Regina's face would scrunch up with indignation, and Jefferson could see the words forming on her lips. "When do I get to learn  _real_  magic?" she would petulantly whisper. As if the Dark One hadn't already taught her how to kill a person with her fingernails or control minds with the squeeze of her hand.

This dissatisfaction was familiar now that Jefferson rubbed elbows with other magic-users. Mages like Anathiel were not content with just knowing how to barrage an enemy with powerful bursts of arcane energy, which he was surprised to learn she had been taught early in her training. The elf and others like her devoted months, years, even decades to mastering their craft. (Anathiel had spent two centuries.) Most of these mages had professions on the side, such as alchemy and enchanting, and sought to accumulate every scrap of magical knowledge they could.

Anathiel could not only manipulate the world around her, but conjure items from thin air. (Something Regina had tried and failed to do, while Jefferson laughed at her.) The elf knew how to make tasty little cakes and sweet beverages from nothing, with little effort. "Magic comes with a price," Jefferson echoed Rumplestiltskin, "so where do the cakes come from? And do they disappear after a while in our stomachs? No wonder I'm still hungry after dessert with you." She would just giggle and idly play with fire - her fingertips lit up like candles. It didn't burn her skin, though it did burn Jefferson. She would cool his pain with ice, which didn't help much but made for some very interesting foreplay.

Part of him would miss her, he thought, placing his palm on the cool crystal that would teleport him to the valley below. He hiked to the ruins of the ancient kal'dorei temple and re-entered his Hat. It smelled like home, but not quite. He re-emerged in Fairy Tale Land with the battered top hat back in his fingers.

Jefferson put it on his head.  _Now_ he was home.


	9. Cut

Some of them do it with subtle knives.

Some do it with ruby shoes.

Some sell their souls or burn up suns. Some press the buttons on a remote made from spare parts in a garage, all the while keeping close eyes on ticking clocks.

They call it jumping, wrinkling, sliding, and hopping. Bridging. Carefully cutting. They click their heels together or fly straight at the stars, the ones on the right. They use fringe science.

Some of them abuse this power. 


	10. The Harvest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on dialogue in S2 Ep 13 "Tiny."

Long ago, in a time forgotten by history, the Giants found a way to plant and nurture beans enriched by magic so powerful they could open doors to other worlds.

Despite their great size and fearsome looks, the Giants were law-abiding and peaceful. They had an ancient civilization and were not monsters. The humans hated and feared them, until they realized the truth - the Giants could make good allies. They became trading partners.

The Giants were generous with their magic, and saw nothing wrong with helping fellow travelers see foreign lands and gaze up at alien stars. The Giants sold the humans the beans.

The humans, awed by this new ability, used the beans to pass between worlds, discovering alien planets and learning all they could about the multiverse.

The Jumpers opened vortex after vortex. They mastered the ability to keep the gates open and stable, for longer periods of time. The Jumpers stretched these swirling tears in spacetime wider and wider. Eventually the portals grew wide enough to march armies through.

The first human explorers set out in small teams on foot, sent by their kings and chieftains to discover new lands and bring back whatever they could. The Jumpers returned with strange new minerals, gems, foods, medicines, exotic plants and animals and, of course, magical artifacts. They made contact with people of all shapes and sizes, all races and species.

The explorers grew confident, and then they grew haughty. The rulers of their homeworld sent representatives to start settlements and plant flags. Their soldiers threatened the other worlds. _Attacked_ the other worlds.

Pillaged the other worlds.

Those who could not defend themselves were subjugated by the invaders, and those who could fight died by the thousands in the fierce battles against them. Kingdoms in every world were thrown into upheaval in the wake of the invaders. The ramifications were felt long after they left.

Gates opened and closed at the whims of the Jumpers, weakening the very fabric of reality, thinning the walls between universes. Unstable doors began to shut on their own, unable to be opened again. The bean supply dwindled, and when the humans sought more, the Giants refused to comply.

The Giants were disgusted. Horrified. They had no other choice but to cease all ties with the humans, boycotting any trade. Some Giants took it upon themselves to kill the Jumpers and take back the magic beans.

A war broke out between the humans and the Giants, and the humans had no chance of success until their alchemists synthesized poison that could swiftly neutralize and kill a Giant. They coated their weapons in these chemicals, and their small size proved beneficial. A soldier could sneak up on a Giant and get one good blow on the ankle before being discovered. The humans also found ways to deliver the toxin en masse, turning the bloody war in their favor. Giants began dying in the thousands, and the few clans remaining knew they were capable of one final, brutal assault. 

Instead, the survivors retreated. They chose to vanish from the world and be forgotten, hiding in refuges in the clouds. A new mandate was made to never interact with the humans ever again, and to allow themselves to become myths told to scare human children. So the Giants could live the rest of their days in peace.

But they still grew the beans.

What were the Giants without the beans? The plants were older than their civilization. Though long-lived, not even the Giants remembered where the first wild plant had come from. They only knew the plant's magic was a gift from the gods, who the Giants strongly believed in. The magic was their life, the Harvest their tradition. Surely it was no longer dangerous to grow them, now the humans thought they were extinct.

Surely history would not repeat itself. 


	11. Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson and Alice visit Spira. Crossover with the video game "Final Fantasy X."

Snarling ferociously, a great horned beast with short blue fur shook the earth as it ran after its prey.

"It's gaining on us!"

"Follow me!"

Two chocobo riders sped across the grassy plain of the Calm Lands with a balivarha in hot pursuit. The landscape seemed serene from a distance, but was home to all kinds of "fiends" - monsters whose bodies had coalesced from the unsent spirits of the dead.

 _Just another walk in the park for the Hatter,_ thought Alice, whose chocobo struggled to keep up with her lover's. Strands of the young woman's long, blonde hair blew into her eyes, trying to escape a messy bun, and her brown and green riding clothes were coated with dust and splattered blood. Her mount was a 10-foot, flightless bird that ran on two powerful legs, tucking in its yellow wings that did little more than slow its descent on short jumps. Domesticated, the birds served as Spira's equivalent of horses and had been the most common mode of transport while machina was illegal.

Alice squeezed her legs, signaling her mount to run faster.

The woman had lost her only weapon - a silver throwing knife fashioned to kill werewolves in another land, not fiends. Despite its dangers, the couple had been idly relaxing on the open plain with their chocobos grazing nearby when they were attacked. Acting on pure instinct, Alice blinded the fiend in one eye, which had only made it angrier. Her lover, a 27-year-old thief named Jefferson, fired four silver bullets at the balivarha from a gun he had picked up in the same realm. This creature had no weakness to this metal, however, and its thick hide repelled the projectiles. Magic could subdue the monster, but neither of them could wield it.

Jefferson was a man known back home for his miraculous powers over space and time, but Alice discovered he had no innate magic of his own. People often called the arrogant "Hatter" a charlatan until he proved otherwise. His astonishing ability to retrieve rare objects lost to time usually did the trick. Magic wasn't alien in any world they visited, but many people they encountered coveted magic as powerful as _that._ Jefferson swore Alice to secrecy - that he was just an ordinary man without the Hat. A hat that could be easily stolen. 

 _"Jefferson!"_ Alice called out to him, still some yards behind.

The beast's swiftness had taken them by surprise. A chocobo could maintain a high speed over much longer distances than a balivarha, whose legs were canine and bulk like a bear's. But the creature was capable of quick bursts of speed, and all it needed to dismount and maul Alice was one opportunity to impale her chocobo with one of its two massive horns.

The beast did not catch up, but Alice could hear a burbling noise coming from the balivarha's throat. Quickly glancing behind, she saw flames lick the fiend's open maw. With no warning, the creature exhaled a fiery breath that singed the tail feathers of Alice's chocobo.

_"Kweh!"_

The bird screamed and ran faster. A chocobo had one advantage over a horse, and a balivarha for that matter. Horses had four legs to worry about. Chocobos only had two. Jefferson turned his mount around to place himself between Alice and the fiend.

"No, Jefferson! What are you doing?"

"Saving you. Heeyah!"

Jefferson pulled out his gun, aimed at the fiend's good eye and fired, attracting its attention and its malice. He directed his chocobo away from Alice and the balivarha followed.

"You want a snack? Take me!"

"Don't!" Alice cried.

"Get to Rin's!"

Conflicted, Alice turned her head in the direction of Rin's Travel Agency, then looked back at Jefferson and the fiend.

"Come on," she told the chocobo, kicking its sides and charging after her lover.

Jefferson knew exactly where to take the beast, and if his chocobo suspected, it didn't show it. The thief headed straight for the Scar, the gaping chasm that had cleaved the Calm Lands in two when High Summoner Gandof battled the monster Sin four centuries earlier.

Alice caught up in time to see Jefferson's chocobo dart over a small ridge, the fiend close behind. She knew the Scar lay on just the other side, and screamed.

_"No!"_

The balivarha leapt at Jefferson, its massive paws swiping at his chocobo's tail. Suddenly, the bird was gone, and only open air lay before it. Roaring and clawing at the ground, it tried to stop, but its momentum carried it off the cliff and into the Scar.

Jefferson's chocobo had veered sharply to the right, its talons dangling off the edge of the gorge for mere seconds, using its flapping wings to catch the wind and ease itself back onto solid ground. The bird trembled with fear, well aware of the Scar's depth and its own limited flying abilities. Safe at last, but furious at its rider, the bird violently shook Jefferson off its back.

Alice climbed over the ridge and found her lover on the ground, his eyes narrowed at the chocobo but looking happy to be alive.

"You must be very proud of yourself," she said sourly.

"You know, I was wondering what that feeling was."

"That stunt you just pulled? I thought you were dead."

He stood up and tried approaching his chocobo, but the bird avoided his touch. Jefferson fished around his pockets for some gysahl greens.

"Well, I'm not. However, that balivarha's prospects aren't so good."

He held out the bird's food and, despite its best efforts to resist, it took some in its beak. Jefferson used this opportunity to pet the bird, who couldn't keep a grudge for very long.

Unlike his lover, who was still glaring at him.

"I haven't heard a 'thank you,'" he said, still not looking at her. When he was met with silence, even the sarcastic jab he expected, he turned to see she had begun riding away. Jefferson mounted and trotted after her.

"Alice."

"Alice, my love."

 _"Alice._ "

She turned and replied with a curt, "What?"

"I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't let it harm you. I took the risk because..."

He trailed off, but her mind filled in the blanks. She always thought he used "my love" as a kind of shorthand, a pet name for any girl he slept with, but the expression on his face told her something very different.

"I know," she said. "But I worry."

They reached the outpost and dismounted their chocobos. Alice led them to an open trough of water. Jefferson opened his bag to remove more gysahl greens for the birds.

"Kweh!"

"You're welcome, you great smelly bastard."

Jefferson patted the chocobo's head. Alice glanced at the two of them and smiled.

"You'll spoil that bird."

"Yeah, well, this one certainly deserves it today."

Alice walked over and placed her hand over Jefferson's.

"See, I knew you could be nurturing." 

"Is that a hint?"

Alice's other hand lightly rubbed her stomach, but the man didn't notice. She knew Jefferson wasn't keen on children, but the couple had left some things to chance. The Hatter was a risk taker, after all.

He risked their lives every day, taking her to lands with as rich a history as their own, if not richer and more complex. Worlds with entirely different magic, technology, cultures, and languages (magic helped with that particular hurdle). Other species with unique physiology, even differences in physics on a universal scale. These were parallel realities, not neighboring kingdoms, so when people asked why the Hatter sometimes wore mismatched articles of clothing from different eras, or had a satchel that was bigger on the inside, or kept time with a pocket watch and equipped a revolver, Jefferson had a number of perfectly good reasons, but merely replied he was "well traveled" and hoped they wouldn't press the issue.

 

* * *

 

 

Spira was a land unlike any other Jefferson or Alice had visited, and the Hat's door opened in the Calm Lands for the simplest of reasons - its ambient magic, which felt similar to Crystalsong Forest's. Like radiation after a nuclear explosion, it just wouldn't go away.

Travelers would pass through the Calm Lands from the city of Bevelle on their way north to Mt. Gagazet, and the region was more mesa than prairie. A man could stand on the northwestern rim and gaze out at the uninhabited hills and valleys below, stretching for miles and miles to the ocean. 

For the most part, the Calm Lands were bordered by cliffs to the south and east, which grew higher to the northeast where a road led up the mountain. To the southeast, a hidden path - reachable by a spry chocobo - led to Remiem Temple, a holy city abandoned long ago when the mountains were first wracked by the magical battle between High Summoner Gandof and Sin.

One thousand years ago, the kingdoms of Zanarkand and Bevelle fought a brutal and bloody war that left this once-fertile land barren and lifeless. Sometime later, summoners chose this location to fight the monster Sin and bring on the Calm - a period of respite from Sin's regular purge - thus giving the land its new name. One particular battle, between Sin and Gendof, left the Scar. History said that Sin used the last of its strength to tear the earth asunder, creating a chasm so deep and dark it seemed bottomless. The massive quake broke apart and raised the ground of the northern plains. The southern plains were left with pockmarks from the battle - small round craters with spiky rock formations that protruded from the dirt like claws or teeth.

The few people who lived in the Calm Lands buried their dead in the Scar, because with no resident summoners - who served as this world's priests, and whose prayers quite literally sent souls to the afterlife - the unsent spirits may turn into Fiends. It was said that Fiends roamed the bottom of the gorge for this very reason.

Fiends clearly roamed the plains as well, which explained why every adventurer was either adept at magic or well-armed.

Or just took the risk, bringing nothing more than a swift chocobo...


End file.
